


Constant Companion

by CharismaticEnticer



Category: Die Anstalt
Genre: Broken Pedestals, Doctor/Patient, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Foreshadowing, Implied Relationships, M/M, Manipulator Breaking, Mental Instability, Narcissism, POV Third Person Limited, Poetry, Pre-Slash, Present Tense, Vulnerability, Weak Spots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharismaticEnticer/pseuds/CharismaticEnticer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Put simply, to Dub's unassuming mind, Dr Wood absolutely does not - cannot, in fact - crumple under the pressure. Or so he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constant Companion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [searchlight-p (tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=searchlight-p+%28tumblr%29).



> This is actually the most recent fic I wrote for the fandom, and a Christmas one at that, for someone who I don't believe has an account here. I have written more; it's just the rest of the ones I need to put on here are either part of a series or NSFW or both. It's also my first 'official' attempt at poetry for it. I've written some before, but it's far too short to count. (I have some high standards as to what I can put on here.) 
> 
> Originally written and published on December 25th 2012.
> 
> Die Anstalt © Martin Kittsteiner.

Put simply,  
to Dub's unassuming mind,  
Dr Wood  
is pretty much perfect  
in every sense.

Granted, he's basing this  
off of what he witnesses,  
sees and hears,  
rather than any real experience  
of being 'with' him.  
He's only known him for a few weeks now,  
after all.

But what he can see is  
a lovely design,  
if a little pudgy,  
and what he can hear  
astounds him.

Wood speaks  
in English  
and German both  
about the smartest things,  
concepts and theories  
he can't even begin  
to wrap his head around.  
He helps the therapist  
get to the bottom  
of what's wrong with everyone  
(except him, obviously)  
and notes things in his book.

Above all else, though,  
is his stoicism,  
his façade.  
Wood can get cross sometimes,  
but only at the right things,  
and it doesn't stop him from  
doing his job.

Dub likes that.  
He appreciates that Wood  
is so strong  
and unyielding.  
Mark of a true professional.

He never melts.  
He never cries.  
He never breaks.  
He absolutely refuses to crumple  
when it gets too much,  
unlike _some_ people he knows.

He refuses  
up until the day  
the people from -  
what was it again?  
\- the German Psychological Society  
unexpectedly come to call.

**

A lot of things happen at once  
that day,  
as he finds out later  
from Spieler and Dolly.

Later, he sympathises at her tale  
of Sly nicking her fluffy sock,  
the one with the orange stripes  
she knitted herself.  
Later, he learns that Lilo  
was behind the alarm  
going off all around them without warning  
this morning.  
Later, he squirms guiltily  
when forced to say that Sly  
should not be so hot for one of his therapists,  
hating to be the pot  
that heckles the kettle.

But now,  
he doesn't see how Wood  
connects to all of this.

All he knows is that the raven  
won't be around for at least an hour,  
much to his chagrin,  
because of this meeting  
with the higher-ups.  
Again, he thinks nothing of this.  
It's Wood's time to spend,  
and besides,  
all the more opportunities  
to get super fit.

And to not worry about him.

In fact, the first sign  
that all is not as well as was put out  
from the mind of the  
calm as waters  
unaffected by stress  
not at all at risk of cracking from the pressure  
doctor Wood

is said mind  
walking out  
of the meeting,  
thirty minutes too early  
but not seeming to care,  
and into a spare room,  
pushing the door firmly shut behind him.

**

No one else seems willing  
or able  
to go check on him,  
so Dub takes the risk.  
And his stuff with him,  
for caution's sake.

Timer in shell  
and rope around neck,  
he tries to push the armchair over  
so he can stand on it  
and look through the letterbox window.  
It won't budge.  
( _What do they stuff these things with, bricks?_  
he asks in thought,  
to no reply.)

Instead, he presses against the lower corner,  
hoping to get it open,  
despite how hard it slammed.  
It takes a few seconds,  
but eventually it swings inward,

to reveal Dr Wood,  
obscured  
in a darkened corner.  
Externally, there is no difference  
to how he normally looks,  
but there are little things.  
His posture.  
His position.  
His hood twisted painfully  
under his wings.

He wasn't like this this morning.  
Something's wrong.

Dub steps into the room,  
hiding the glare of the outside light,  
and asks if Wood's okay.  
The raven stirs and tries to pick up  
his composure  
from where it left off.  
"I don't recall asking anyone to come in,"  
he says stiffly.  
Forced.

Yeah, he knows.  
But in this state,  
the other can't ask much of anything,  
can he?

"If you've come here to taunt me,  
I suggest you don't bother.  
I've had enough of that."  
He hasn't, and he insists as much.  
"Then why have you come in here?"  
To see what's wrong  
and how he can help.  
"And now you _have_ seen it,  
and you can go.  
Smart enough answer for you people?"

Wood's talked like this before,  
but not in here,  
not to him.  
What happened in that meeting  
to make it so?  
No one else is here,  
so it's his right to know.

Dub shuts the door  
from the right wrong side  
and refuses to go  
until Wood tells him what's up.

"You'll be waiting a long time."  
He doesn't care.

The raven turns away  
to face the join between walls,  
refusing to look at him.  
The wait is indeed a while;  
from the timer's display,  
three minutes, to be exact.

"Are you still there, Dub?"  
Yes.  
"And you haven't dismissed me  
as sub-par  
like all the others?"  
Of course not.

"Hm. Persistent,"  
is muttered quietly,  
then silence again,

a long and embracing one  
that echoes hollowly in his ears  
and in the space between them

until, at last,  
he relents.

"If you must know,  
they made a mockery of me in there,"  
Wood says, hushed.  
"The people from the DGPs.  
Spieler, too."

Why would they do that?  
Dub asks, approaching closer.  
"Steiff knows.  
Simply to hurt me, probably.  
Wouldn't surprise me."

What did they say?  
"I wasn't living up to expectations.  
I was shirking my articles  
to pursue my subconscious dreams.  
My theories were sub-par.  
They used that word exactly, 'sub-par',"  
he growls.

That's... not much of a mockery,  
as Dub points out.

"Don't **you** start. You couldn't understand. I've done more this year than in any other, and they refused to see that, today of all days, after they threw me off by coming here a week ahead of schedule and that snake ran me ragged by refusing to get down from the ceiling and everything happened at precisely the worst time, and on top of it all they had the nerve to imply that..."

He shrinks into the corner, trailing off.  
Dub's still confused,  
but it pales to the concern,  
the alienation of seeing Wood  
so small.

He isn't crying.  
Does that make it better or worse?

"You side with them, I'm sure,"  
he says at last,  
darkly.  
"You deem me as they do:  
not up to scratch.  
Slower.  
Not as smart as I know I am.

And if everyone believes it to be so,  
this...  
does it mean it **is** so? "

The turtle doesn't want to answer that,  
even if he could.  
This kind of talk grips him  
with a gut wrenching fear  
he has to shake as fast as he can.

He counters it with another question.  
Does Wood want him to stay,  
sit beside him,  
keep the others out,  
be his comforter?  
Or words to that effect.

"...If you must."

So he does.  
He sits in the corner alongside,  
and watches Wood breathe  
in and out,  
and reaches to put a hand  
on his exposed bac--  
"I said be with me,  
I didn't say touch me."  
\--and leaves his hand by his side  
where it belongs.

Somewhere in the seconds,  
he realizes that only he  
has seen Wood like this,  
beyond the layer of security  
and invulnerability  
he built up.

In hindsight, it makes sense.  
Even someone as perfect as Wood  
can't be strong forever.  
In anything -  
athletics, science, and psychology especially -  
doubt  
is a constant companion.

And right now,  
and maybe even in the future,  
when Wood is out of this slump,  
restored to his former glory,  
Dub can be a constant companion too,  
if he'll let him.

He hopes the break will only be once.

**

 

 

 

"I'll prove them wrong, Dub.

I'll prove that I'm not slacking,  
that I'm not as sub-par as they say.  
I'll get myself together  
and prove it to them.

They'll have to respect me then.  
They won't say a word against me again.  
And when I do,  
you'll be the first to know.

They'll see.  
You'll see."


End file.
